


Keith Alone

by AlNiCa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drinking, Early Feelings, Pre-Voltron, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, keith focused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlNiCa/pseuds/AlNiCa
Summary: What happened in the desert





	Keith Alone

Day 13:

The desert was fucking hot. The sand was literally everywhere on his body now, including his ass crack. He needed a shower. He needed to go back into town for food soon, but because he was also out of whiskey, he couldn’t drive there even if he wanted to.

The shack needed better windows, the cold air easily crept in at night. He’d freeze to death in the winter.

He’d probably not even make it to winter. 

Maybe he could just lay out in the sun and let himself be reclaimed by the Earth? He could finally be reunited with his dad.

With..

No, he couldn’t do that. He’d disappoint _him_.

Got to keep going.

…

Got to vomit first.

 

Day 32:

He almost died last night.

Flying the hoverbike over a cliff, drunk, was a horrible idea. But drunk Keith needed to feel something.

Of course, drunk Keith had been drunk for about 20 days straight now.

He barely pulled up in time, his broken ankle and wrist prove that. The bike barely survived.

He had to slowly drive it home since it wouldn’t go past 30 mph.

He was being childish. _He_ would be so mad at him right now. After everything _he_ did for him, this is how he repays _him_.

The worst part is.. he was almost disappointed when he survived the fall. He wished it had just ended everything. Full on adrenaline, he probably would have barely felt the impact for more than a few seconds.

So much has happened to him in the past 18 years. He’d been dumb to think he could be hopeful about the future.

The Garrison only wanted him because of _him_. He knew it wouldn’t last once _he_ was gone.

It was the best 2 years of his life.

What the fuck would he do now? He had no skills, no ambitions, no one to help him. He was too old for the foster system. No family to reach out to. He was terrible at making friends, and the only one beside _him_ probably wouldn’t talk to him anymore since he snapped at her before he left.

He was such a happy kid, how did it all get so fucked in the span of 10 years?

 

Day 49:

He stood on a cliff at 13:00, the sun high in the sky. He was so fucking sunburnt.

There was a breeze in the desert today and a half-empty bottle in his hand.

He puked blood last night. His organs probably hated him.

Whatever.

He couldn’t keep doing this.

He screamed. He doesn’t remember what he screamed. He just left every ounce of pain he felt out of his system and into the sky.

No one heard him.

It didn’t matter, no one ever heard him.

 

Day 57:

He needed money. He forgot about that.

He got two part-time jobs. One was making deliveries for a grocery store. Luckily they never asked for his driver’s license before they hired him, just that he could drive.

It wasn’t bad. Mainly it was for the elderly, and they were all nice enough. Some of the costumers started making him deserts to take as a tip. He usually hated talking to people, but it was almost nice to have the 5 minute conversations with these costumers.

They were all as lonely as him.

The other job was running security at a small, private nursing home at night. He didn’t get how his life became so full of old people, but it was better than people his age. They all mostly slept, he just needed to make sure no one tried to get in and out. If someone woke up, a CNA would usually take care of it.

Sometimes they tried to talk to him. Usually, they saw his wild hair and mostly dirty face and quickly walked by.

It paid the bills to get the water and electricity turned back on in the shack. He was able to fix some of the windows.

He tried really hard to not buy any more booze. Keyword: tried.

 

Day 74:

One of the older ladies at the home couldn’t sleep one night, so she asked her CNA if she could take a quick walk to drain some energy.

She decided she wanted to come to talk to him.

She didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t talking much, she just enjoyed someone to listen to her.

She had 3 sons, all of which hadn’t visited her in a month. How could someone have a loving mother and not come to see her? How could someone have a family and neglect them?

She saw how long his hair was and asked if she could braid it. She said, “I love braiding my grandbaby’s but I haven’t seen any of them in a while.”

He had no reason to say no.

As her small, slightly shaking hands ran through his hair and braided it, they both chose not to acknowledge the quiet tears running down his face.

He hadn’t been touched by anyone in months.

She became his favorite.

 

Day 93:

He started spending some of his free time at the city library. Seeing as he couldn’t explore the desert much until he was able to get the last part for the bike, he needed something else to keep him busy.

He started off with the “young adults” section. People at school used to read some of this shit, maybe he’d like it too?

Most of it was boring, or way too realistic. There was one series from almost 90 years ago that he ended up enjoying a lot. Not “young adult”, too much death, dragons, and frozen-zombie things. It passed the time.

He wandered into the “educational” sections one day. He was headed towards the science books when he found the psychology section. _He_ tried to get him to read some shit like this before. He decided to try one basic textbook, why not?

He ended up learning a lot about himself while reading. A lot on why he behaved the way he did. Why he acted out so much as a kid. Why, when _he_ disappeared, he might have lashed out.

He closed the book and headed out. Being confronted with the reality of his behavior was a lot for one night.

He needed a drink. Just one _small_ drink.

Baby steps.

 

Day 122:

He’d been sober for 10 days now.

He tried doing yoga. He knew it’d be dumb, but his back was hurting and the lady at the drugstore wouldn’t sell him anything stronger than what they had on the shelves.

And he definitely couldn’t afford a fucking doctor.

He hated to admit that it kind of worked.

He had the day off, the bike was finally fixed. He wanted to go drive around the desert again.

He didn’t realize he was taking _their_ route until he got to the cliff. He didn’t try it this time, because _he_ was right. He wasn’t ready, and he got hurt last time he did it. But he had time to practice now.

After almost the entire day of driving around, he started feeling strange things happening to the controls. He slowed down in case the power steering was somehow malfunctioning.

More and more it felt less like no control, and more like something else was controlling it. He had nothing better to do, he let it happen. It was dark when he reached the caves. He had very little light, so he decided that on his next day off he’ll come back.

Something wanted him here, he could feel it.

 

Day 150:

The carvings were beautiful. He sat in the caves the last two days just drawing them. He felt so much energy just sitting there, almost like the cave was pulsing.

For the first time in so long, he felt at peace. Like the cave _wanted_ him there. It welcomed him with open arms.

Giant blue lions scattered the wall, all telling a story of triumph and victory.

Who could’ve drawn them? What did they mean? Was it a long time ago or was it some dumb kids from the city with a wild imagination and some sticks and paint?

He didn’t seem to care, either way, he just enjoyed their presence.

For the first time in a long time, he thought about _him_. What would _he_ think about what he was doing? Would _he_ be disappointed? Or proud that he’s actually dealing with the trauma instead of drinking himself to sleep every night? He wished he could know. He wishes he could know anything _he’s_ thinking right now.

He wishes _he_ could even think right now.

The dead can’t think though.

The dead can’t do anything at all.

 

Day 187:

His favorite old woman at the nursing home was getting pretty sick, so he took extra hours whenever he could to spend time with her.

Her sons were visiting her more often, mostly out of regret than actually wanting to be there.

Keith snuck in cake and cookies for her whenever he could. Lemon was her favorite flavor.

Every night she had a CNA walk her over to him and they sat there talking. He never left without some sort of braid in his hair.

This time though, before he left, she asked: “Do you see your mother as much as you see me?”

He didn’t reply, he didn’t have the heart to tell her his mother was gone. So was his dad. So was his best friend. How did he tell her that he had no one?

“Make sure the people you love know you love them, don’t waste the time you have.

She was right, but he’d probably never love someone ever again.

He never had enough time.

 

Day 203:

He saw the small Holt in town today. He doesn’t remember her (?) name. At least, he thought Matt had a sister. Maybe he only thought he saw the smaller Holt.

Whoever it was, it hurt to see them.

Maybe he should’ve reached out when it happened. Maybe this was the one person in this world who could understand the pain he felt.

It was too late now, they probably didn’t even remember his name.

 

Day 230:

He finally opened the bag of _his_ things.

He knows it’s been long enough. He should be over it by now. He’s had a long enough time to grieve.

But he wasn’t invited to the memorial. Or the funeral.

It still didn’t feel real.

He pulled out one of _his_ shirts. A sweatshirt he stole, _his_ favorite one. _His_ ex would be mad he took it. But they broke up, and _he_ had no family. Keith felt like he had the right for first picks of what was left.

It was stupid, but he did it anyway.

It somehow still smelt like _him_. It was soft under the scent of the desert. But it was real, and it was _him_.

How long would the memory of _him_ hurt? How long before he didn’t feel the need to scream and puke every time he thought about _him_?

How could one person mean so much to someone?

 _He_ probably didn’t feel the same way. _He’d_ probably think he was being ridiculous.

A ridiculous kid, obsessed with the memory of his best friend. His first crush.

At this rate, his only crush.

How long before he re-entered the world?

Could he stay in the desert forever?

 

Day 243:

He told the old woman about _him_.

She asked about his friends and his family for so long, but he always brushed it off. He didn’t have many more excuses left.

So he told her about how they met, how he stole _his_ car and _he_ still wanted to help him.

How they became friends when everyone else wanted nothing to do with the kid who flying came so easy to.

How they would stay up late studying together, and how much it pissed off _his_ boyfriend when _he_ would come back at 2 am.

He told her about how _he_ taught him to fly on his dad’s hoverbike, more than just how to drive it in a straight line.

He told her about all the movies they went to, the nights they snuck out, the lunches they shared.. everything.

He didn’t tell her about the mission. Or that _he_ left. That _he_ was gone.

He talked about _him_ like _he_ was still here. He wishes _he_ was still here.

Before he left to clock out, he heard her say, “I’m glad you have someone that loves you, Keith.”

 

Day 300:

He snuck in to see the memorial.

Technically, he wasn’t allowed on Garrison grounds, indefinitely.. but he needed to see it. Most importantly, he was finally ready to see it.

He waited until 03:00, only 4 security guards were still on duty at that time. He jumped the fence and stayed low, in the shadows.

He didn’t know where they were putting it, so it took a little longer than expected to find it.

On one of the less busy sidewalks, right on the side of the flight simulator building, stood three large frames. One for each of the missing crew of the Kerberos mission.

Commander Holt was in the middle, Matt on the right, and.. _he_ was on the left. He walked up to _his_ , where flowers and little mementos still laid on the ground.

So many people loved _him_.

Keith let his fingers run across the plaque, outlining the letters of _his_ name.

It had been 302 days since he found out _he_ was gone forever. He wishes he could’ve controlled his reaction. Wishes he could’ve done everything a lot differently, for _him_.

Keith sat down in front of the picture for a while. He thought about all the amazing things this man, his best friend, did in his life. All the amazing things _he_ did, not just for him, but for so many people. So many people loved _him_.

Most importantly, he loved _him_.

 

Day 350:

It was night, the sky was clear. Until 24:00.

Something was falling from the sky, but he was ready. The caves told him to be ready.

He set the bombs up 200 yards away.

They went off, his distraction worked.

He got inside the tent.

His heart was racing.

Three Garrison officers. He quickly took them down. Months of free fighting classes finally paying off.

Someone was strapped to the exam table in the center.

He needed to see who, or what was on that table.

He took his scarf off as he got closer.

 

No.

 

It couldn’t…

 

“Shiro?”

 

__ 

 

It was later when they were all back at the shack, Shiro sleeping soundly in his bed, he realized, that he hadn’t said _his_ name in 345 days. 

But he could now, _he_ was home.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this title is inspired by AtLA 
> 
> Come say hi!  
> Twitter: nax_zela  
> Tumblr: nax-zela  
> Pillowfort: naxzela


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